


we (didn't) have a little talk

by thisisthenoid



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Can be seen as pairing, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Guilt, Light Angst, dream - Freeform, im bad at tagging, ooc characters probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 05:33:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14970158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisthenoid/pseuds/thisisthenoid
Summary: after all that's been and done, it was you i was always running from





	we (didn't) have a little talk

**Author's Note:**

> started: 17/6/2018  
> title and description from red vox's "we had a little talk" song. its been two years and that song still slaps  
> ive been in a slump lower than usual lately

'wilson.' no response. he didn't even divert his attention away from his chore, which bit at maxwell's pride a tad. ' _wilson_.' this time it earned him a sharp glare and the upturn of an eyebrow. his eye spoke volumes of exhaustion and annoyance, which reminded maxwell how genuinely nervous he was to talk to him. which was stupid, obviously, but the weight within his chest was there; it was persistent and annoying, and the stone of worry only grew heavier with what he wanted to ask.

 

'... what.' wilson deadpanned after a moment of silence. maxwell swallowed past the lump in his throat and put on his best poker face, instantly replacing his air of anxiety with an "i dont care" attitude. mentally, he nodded his head and summoned his courage, like he was about to preform on stage, and that in itself was a bitter comparison.

 

'do you trust me?' he kept his voice confident and steady. wilson's change was slow - raised brows becoming knitted and mouth drawn into wiggly confusion. doubt, uncertainty, questions, conflict, suspicion, it all flew across his face, and maxwell noticed every subtle difference.

 

'why.' 

 

'it's a simple question.' maxwell waved off, faking his nonchalantness even though his heart raced a mile a minute. he cursed himself - why  _was_ he interested? why the sudden worry? why the sudden _care_? as if maxwell had ever cared whether wilson trusted him or not, whether wilson liked him or not, tolerated him or not. even he couldn't understand his own head. perhaps he really had hit the deep end. or maybe his heart was beating back to life. both were petrifying thoughts. 'a yes or no would satisfy me.' 

 

maxwell should have been rejoicing at the lack of wilson's happiness over the past few weeks, but he found that he couldn't even manage that small respite. maybe wilson's quietness had something to do with the recent loss of his eye, or maybe his added quietness had something to do with maxwell suddenly taking a keen interest in their relationship. either way, he'd learnt that he despised the slowly encroaching depression in the mans demeanour a lot more than he'd like to admit, and he couldn't for the life of him understand why.

 

the pops and crackles of the fire and the activity of nightlife filled in their awkward silence, their gazes never breaking. an orange and red glow had been cast against wilson's right side, his left cast in shadows, claws gripped around a half weaved rope, brows still knit in thought. he was hesitant and apprehensive in his answer, if maxwell would even _get_ an answer at all. butterflies violently flew around maxwell's belly, his head full of cotton, and he hated it, he hated having emotions and feelings, the throne had been barren of such tedious things and sometimes he really despised his freedom, and _he_ had caused this particular situation _himself_ ; that fact was so maddening he'd caused this himself all he wanted to do was run away and never return-

 

'i don't know.' wilson finally muttered, cutting into maxwell's erratic thoughts. his charisma and jolliness had faded away into a saddened husk, and these days, he sounded as dreary as wendy. maxwell didn't know if he could handle three depressed tones all in the same group.

 

so it was probably that observation that sparked his want to ... prove to wilson that he could be trusted? reassure him? comfort him? show him that he really cared? he wasn't positive on what the horrendous feelings were, but then his body was moving of its own accord, and before he knew it he was sat in front of a composed, stunned wilson. nothing made sense as he rose his hands to the sides of wilson's face, softly embracing him. he watched as wilson's eye blew to the size of a dinner plate. a claw quickly snapped around maxwell's right wrist on the primal instinct to get away, to fight back, but maxwell stayed firm, making it a point, proving his point, a point he didn't know nor understand. wilson's face was dreadfully cold, but he pushed it to the back of his mind, looking into his eye with all his might.

 

within his black pool, there was a dulled, white shine he dared call a star.

 

'what are you doing,' it hadn't been his intention to make wilson panic, but he had little experience in this sort of thing, and he _really_ wanted to show him his point. the claw around his wrist was tightening, becoming a painful grip, and any other time he would have lost his rag and snapped at him; to stop being so childish and accept his attempts of comfort, but instead he rubbed his left thumb across wilson's cheek in a loop of gentle strokes. the action had felt natural, with a twinge of pitiful nostalgia. he hadn't noticed how tense wilson had become, how hunched his body was, as if he was waiting for the opportunity to break free and bolt away. then he spotted the sight of a shaking, tightly curled fist in his peripheral, hovering just a ways away from his head, and he knew it was debating whether it should lash out or not. 

 

'i'm sorry,' maxwell blurted without warning, tears damming his eyes. he loathed it, but he couldn't stop himself. the scenery around them slowly smudged together into an ugly colour, but he kept holding wilson's face, kept stroking his cheek, kept looking into the star of his eye. he didn't know why he'd said it, but it was too late to try and take control of his thoughts now. he couldn't feel wilson's claw around his wrist anymore; the world around them became hazy as it melted and blended into a blob of black and grey tar, a low roar in his ears, his body light and airy, yet wilson remained scared and solid and so very real. 'i'm so sorry wilson, please forgive me, please, forgive me-'

 

and then he bolted awake. staring at the green ceiling that was his tent, dull light filtering through the fabric and the bustle of his associates busy on the outside. there was a muffled crash of something heavy, a shocked yelp, a snicker, the sound of tiny steps rushing across mildewed grass. tears in his eyes. a white knuckled fist pressed to his burning chest, stomach rolling with nerves and anxiety and sickness. it took a few before he felt like he could breathe properly again. it was all a painful reminder that he was no longer bound to the board. that he was human again.

 

it had been the same dream. he'd figured by now that his conscience was trying to get him to do the right thing, but he knew such an act of compassion would be a lost and meaningless waste of his effort and energy. it had been too long, the damage irreparable, and a few words of forced comfort would do little to help fade the scars.

 

he let out a deep sigh before he forced himself up. wendy had told him that hiding away from his problems was a pointless action. he brushed himself off, straightened his tarnished suit as best he could, and stepped into the spotlight with as much grace as he could muster. wilson paid little attention to his appearance, keeping his back to him with whatever task he was doing, which he was glad for.

 

he didn't know if he could stand direct eye contact.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry i didnt realise how long this had gotten pvfdjhg


End file.
